


Index

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Asexual Bruce, Asexual Natasha, BDSM, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, D/s, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic, Dragons, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Pining, Self-cest, Tattoos, Threesome - F/M/M, Vampires, Werewolves, warnings tagged in chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of MCU drabbles previously posted on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phlint

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Domestic!Phlint
> 
> Warnings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, domestic fluff, food abuse

Phil smiles slowly as he drifts into wakefulness, reaching out to pull Clint closer. But his hands encounters nothing but empty space, cool sheets where the archer should be.

He hears a noise in the kitchen, and immediately Coulson springs into worst case scenario action, rolling over, lifting his gun in a hand, grabbing the earpiece from the bedside table and stalking down the hallway.

Phil turns the corner with his gun aimed, and then blinks and lowers it. Because Clint is in his kitchen...drinking coffee directly from the pot. And he's attempting to make waffles. Only the wafflemaker is upside down. And there's mix leaking everywhere.

This is not the way that he'd assumed their first morning together would go.

Well, not that it was their first one _together_. Just their first one here.

-

_They'd lived in SHIELD barracks right after getting married on a crazy whim during a mission together. Then New York happened._

_And Clint wouldn't have even been in New York if Phil hadn't been so particular about his husband touching his collection. He wasn't harboring a thing for Steve, they were important memorabilia, cherished gems of his childhood. Not objects for target practice._

_Then the year on the Bus with he and Clint catching moments here and there because neither of them had gotten around to telling Fury about their relationship status. And then Hydra happened._

_Everything went to shit and Clint had been deep undercover, and finding and extracting him been the worst nightmare of Phil's life._

_-_

And now Phil's here in their new apartment, staring at his husband, who has a tear in the side of his, no – Phil's, pajama pants, as Clint takes the brand new, perfectly organized kitchen and turns it into a disaster area.

With a gun in his hand. In his underwear.

Fortunately, Clint doesn't notice, because he's too busy digging in the freezer for some ice to put on his burned tongue.

Phil has never loved him more than in this moment.

He takes a few steps backwards, settles the gun back to its place on the bedside table, takes the time to pull on a pair of pants, and then heads back to the kitchen.

Phil walks right up to Clint, who is settling a pan on the stove, and slides an arm around his waist.

Which would have been a sweet moment, except Clint jumps and drops the carton of eggs in his hand, and then looks down with a sigh.

“Aw, eggs.”

Phil can't help it, he starts laughing, letting go of Clint and leaning back against the counter.

Clint reaches up and switches on his hearing aids, then eyes the snickering Coulson.

“Worst. Husband. Ever.” Clint points around the kitchen. “I was making you breakfast!”

Phil eyes the waffle mix pooled across the countertop and the eggs all over floor. For some reason there's milk dripping out from under the fridge, which is open with the coffeepot jammed in it.

“How...thoughtful?”

Clint narrows his eyes.

Phil reaches out and pulls him close, kissing him softly and sweetly, hands splaying across the skin of his husband's back.

Clint slides his arms up around the older man's neck, and with one move, Phil lifts Clint and turns to settle him on top of the kitchen island. Clint wraps his legs around Phil's waist and licks his way into Phil's mouth, and they just stay like that, lazily making out, until Clint pulls away, wrinkling his nose.

Phil opens his eyes and furrows a brow.

“Clint?”

The archer gives him a look of such wide eyed innocence that Phil's hackles immediately raise.

“Do we happen to have a fire extinguisher in the house?”

Phil blinks once and then spins, and yes, flames are spiraling from the pan that Clint left on.

Turns out, no they don't. 

Fortunately, shutting it off and moving the pan away from the burner does the trick.

“Maybe we should reconsider moving into Stark Tower. At least he has a fire extinguisher.”

 


	2. Phlint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Phlint - Tattoos
> 
> Warnings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, fluff, tattoos

Phil looks down at the spiky blond hair of the man currently leaning on him, one finger tracing the lines of Coulson's Rangers tattoo which is half-exposed under the short sleeve of his tee.

“You have an unhealthy obsession.”

Clint turns his face up, and Phil is forced to kiss him softly.

“I like to think about the days when you were a badass in the Army.”

Phil arches a brow. “As opposed to now, where I'm a badass in SHIELD?”

Clint affects a look of wide eyed innocence.

So, naturally, Phil knew that he was about to be a brat.

“I don't know, old man. I think your badass days are over.”

Phil arches both brows and gives Clint his patented Coulson stare. It doesn't work any better than it ever has.

Before Clint can react, Phil's moving, flipping them both so that he's got the younger man pinned to the couch beneath him.

Which is, of course, exactly what Clint had been going for. But Coulson isn't going to give him everything he wants.

He rucks up the younger mans' shirt so that he can see the tattoo on his hip, some abstract design that Clint has never told him the meaning of. Then Phil carefully and gently drags his finger along the design, over and over.

The archer squirms beneath him, but Phil's got his wrists pinned above his head, and his weight on the younger man's legs so Clint can't really move.

Coulson moves his hand, pulling away from the hip and moving up to Clint's shoulder to run his thumb along the red hourglass imprinted in his skin, predatory smile softening at the thought of Natasha.

Clint takes advantage of the momentary distraction to rolls his hips, overbalancing Phil and flipping them both to the floor, so that Clint is now on top.

Coulson slides his hands up the back of Clint's shirt, dancing along corded muscle until he reaches where he knows the tribal wings decorate his lover's shoulder blades.

Clint leans down and kisses the fabric of the older man's shirt, exactly where the encircled A is inked right over Phil's scar, over his heart.

Then he pulls back, climbing off Phil and reaching a hand out to help him up.

“What do ya say we move this to the bedroom, old man?”

Coulson rises, brushing off his pants and then arches a brow. Instead of answering, he steps forward, scooping Clint up in his arms, smirking as the younger wraps his legs around Phil's waist.

“I'll show you old man, brat.”

He punctuates the statement with a hard smack to Clint's ass, and then takes him to the bedroom, stopping briefly along the way to pin him up against a wall and kiss him breathless.

 

 


	3. FalconHawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sam/Clint - First Time
> 
> Warnings: Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, flashback, first time

“Tash.”

She doesn't look away from her binoculars.

“That's Sam.”

Natasha takes a half-second, mind snagging on the strangled tone of his voice, before the vague recollection of a very drunk story telling night. There's a lot of things that she could say in this moment of revelation. She chooses one that succinctly sums up the matter.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

 _Sam_. Young-and-handsome-in-his-new-uniform-on-leave Sam. First-time-ever-for-Clint-the-lonely-boy-at-the-circus Sam.

“Gonna be a problem?”

“Gimme an hour.”

Natasha nods once, and Clint vanishes from her side. She knows where he'll be while he takes a moment to recover from getting metaphorically punched in the gut.

-

“Ow!” Sam rubs his should and looks down at Natasha. “What was that for?”

“You'll know soon.”

Sam looks at Steve, who shrugs helplessly.

Coulson's face appears on the screen and they all settle in their chairs.

Except one.

Coulson's eyes turn to Natasha.

“I'll catch him up.”

Some sort of silent communication, that neither of the others can read goes on between them. In the end, Coulson nods once and continues with the briefing.

There's a lot to go over, Shield is scattered and their secrets disbursed to the world.

Natasha briefly recounts her mission to extract Clint, somehow without ever mentioning his name or callsign.

Coulson notes the odd behavior but doesn't press.

“Wait, there's another agent on board?” Sam looks around as if they're going to pop out of the woodwork at any moment.

“He'll find you,” Natasha promises ominously, then strides from the table.

Steve shrugs at Sam's look, then goes back to discussing policy with Coulson.

-

It takes him three hours.

One to internalize the fact that his very first lover has just shown up out of nowhere right after the world's gone to shit.

Another to deal with the flashbacks of a generally shitty time in his life.

And the third to follow Sam around for a while, and get to know this older version.

He drops in on the Falcon, literally, just before lights out.

Just oozes through a vent and lands on the bed, criss-crossing his legs while the man sits at his desk.

“Sam.”

He says it softly, but the the former soldier startles anyways, dropping his pen and spinning around in a defensive posture.

Clint snorts. “If I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

Sam, relaxing slightly, narrows his eyes. “You must be the other agent.” He offers his hand. “Sam Wilson. They call me Falcon.”

Clint arches a brow. Sam doesn't recognize him. Then he slowly smirks up at the older man, doesn't take his hand, instead, leans back and puts his hands behind his head.

“Clint Barton. Hawkeye.”

“Oh, fuck.”

 _There it is_. Sam remembers _now_.

Clint gives him a wink and then, in one smooth motion, unfolds himself, bounces, and climbs back through the vent in the ceiling.

Sam sits down hard.

-

_On leave from a don't-ask-don't-tell military, Sam is trying his damndest to stay out of trouble, but trouble comes looking for him. In the form of a barely legal circus kid, with a big mouth and even bigger attitude. And the kid doesn't seem to know that he's not supposed to be hitting on Sam._

_The worst part is that it's_ working _. The kid has lured Sam to his show, and he's actually impressed by the kid's markmanship, and his body in that spandex, well, Sam's only human and it's been a long dry-spell._

_And it is leave after all._

_So he gives in, and that night finds him in the kid's tent, and they're trying to be quiet because cloth walls, but Clint is so damned_ responsive _to everything._

_And he doesn't even know that it's Clint's first time until the kid thanks him after, and Sam is silently grateful that he'd taken his time and done it right, because he'd hate to be someone's bad memory._

_A few more kisses, then Clint's gotta go for a show, and Sam's leave is almost up, and the end, cue curtain._

Until twenty-ish years later apparently.

Sam lets his head fall to thunk against the desk.

And then he goes to take the coldest shower possible.

Because as good as Clint looked all those years ago, it doesn't hold a candle to what he looks like now.

Sam's going to be thinking about that body stretched out on his bed for a long time.


	4. BlackPepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Natasha/Pepper, ruler
> 
> Warnings: Natasha Romanov/Pepper Potts, BDSM, inappropriate use of a ruler, office sex

Natasha's head slams back into the door, as it shuts with the force of her weight being thrown against it. She sees stars for a minute, but that moment of distraction is all it takes for her top to be ripped in half, exposing the bra-less breasts beneath.

She lets out a quiet moan as two slim fingers unerringly find a nipple and pinch cruelly.

“You are five minutes late, little bug.”

“Briefing...ran over...ma'am.”

Each word is punctuated with a gasp as the taller woman's fingers pluck and tease at her nipples before stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“Desk,” she commands, and Natasha goes immediately, spreading herself across the desk obscenely, ass curved up into the air.

Pepper reaches for the wooden ruler she keeps tucked into her top desk drawer for just such an occasion, had since she and 'Natalie Rushman' had found themselves in just such a situation.

Without warning, the ruler slaps down across that pert backside, repeated precise blows, enough that Natasha will feel it for the rest of the day.

Pepper steps back, settles into her chair, eyes raking over the redhead as she obeys the commands to get up and strip.

She has the smaller woman straddle her lap, lifting the ruler once again, meeting Natasha's eyes and then flicking it against first one nipple and then the other.

Natasha whimpers but whispers 'green' softly when asked, so Pepper continues marking that pale skin with the ruler, across chest, stomach and spread out thighs.

Pepper lifts up the ruler.

“Open.”

Natasha parts her lips and the ruler is settled between her teeth. She bites down on it as Pepper’s hand reaches between her legs.

“Don't move. Don't make a sound.”

Natasha represses a shiver and meets Pepper's eyes with a quick blink to show that she understands.

Pepper's elegant fingers dance their way up the inside of Natasha's thigh, then ghost across the slit in between.

Slowly, watching the redheads' face, Pepper slides her middle finger between those plump lips, purring softly at the wetness she feels.

“Already wet for me, little bug? That's my good girl.”

Natasha flushes at the praise, but manages to keep still while Pepper continues to tease her relentlessly.

Finally, the taller woman's thumb rubs along that special little bundle of nerves and Natasha makes a barely held back whimper and her thighs quiver with the strain of not moving.

A few more passes with that cruel thumb and she's just about to unintentionally disobey, when Pepper pulls it away.

And Natasha manages not to whine at the loss, though her eyes are pleading with her mistress.

Pepper smirks. She moves Natasha's legs, shifts the pliant woman so that she's straddling Pepper's right thigh, hands gripped tightly at the small of her back.

“Now, buglet, you have five minutes to get yourself off.” She glances at her watch. “Go.”

Pepper leans back in her chair, eyes dark as she watches Natasha rut against her thigh , mewling like a cat in heat.

Occasionally, she reaches out and torments a puffy red nipple, but mostly Pepper just enjoys the show.

Natasha shudders and cries out around the ruler, trembling as Pepper shushes her and pulls her closer, gently removing the ruler and setting it aside.

Pepper wraps her arm around the smaller woman, one hand stroking through her hair, and then offering her a few sips of water.

When Natasha is calmed down, Pepper releases her to sink gracefully down to the floor, and then sighs softly as she looks at her leg.

“You made quite a mess, bug. I expect you to clean it up.”

Pepper returns to her paperwork as Natasha's tongue swipes across the nylon fabric, cleaning up every droplet of her juices, and then walks into the attached bathroom to retrieve a wet cloth to finish the job.

Only after Pepper is satisfied, is Natasha allowed to clean herself up and get redressed, borrowing one of the blonde's shirts due to the state of her own.

Pepper looks her over and nods once in approval.

“I'll be home at 6:30. I expect you to be ready for me.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Pepper returns to her work as Natasha slips away.


	5. Phlint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clint/Coulson - Shoes
> 
> Warnings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Deaf Clint, Clint loves kids

“Agent Romanov.”

“Sir. You're going to need to come bail Barton out of jail.”

Phil rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath. “Sitrep?”

“Unknown. He, uh, turned off his hearing aids and is refusing to cooperate. They're charging him with shoplifting and property damage.”

“On my way.”

-

Coulson has a five minute conversation with the desk sergeant, and then Clint is freed. It's not until they're outside that he notices the lack of shoes on Barton's feet.

“Clint,” he says, making sure to be in the archer's line of sight so he can lip read, “Where are your shoes?”

“Madison Square Garden.”

Coulson arches a brow while he digests that, shakes his head slightly and then turns to get in the SUV. When he turns to ask Clint what's taking so long, the man is gone.

-

“Stark. Need video surveillance feed.”

Coulson gives him the address.

“No, I did not misplace- You're watching me now aren't you?” He swivels to look up at the camera and sighs. “Just have JARVIS isolate segments with Clint and send it to me.”

It takes four minutes and sixteen seconds.

Phil watches a little girl dressed up in a Hawkeye costume walk down the street with her mother, watches Clint appears out of nowhere, and crash through the window of the store.

He sighs and makes a note to send the guy a check from Shield.

Coulson watches as his husband brushes himself off, ignores the obvious yelling from the guy at the counter, and crouches down to talk to the girl.

Clint lifts his face up to wink at the mother, and then pulls off his custom made canvas shoes, and gives them to the little girl.

Coulson can't see her face, but she must say something else, because he turns his head and shows her his hearing aid. She starts waving her hands – no, that's sign language – and Clint does the same.

And then Clint walks into the store, deflecting a grab by the irate man, and grabs a pack of sharpies from the shelf. He walks back outside, rips the package open, and signs the shoes.

The man is on the phone by now, obviously calling the police, and the squad car pulls up as Clint is waving goodbye to the girl.

Coulson sighs and runs his hand over his face. Only Barton could turn something like this into such a circus.

Phil snorts at the unintended pun, and then heads to Stark Tower.

-

He finds Clint perched inside the lower loop of the giant glowing 'S'.

“I don't even want to know how you got in there.” He considers a moment. “I made waffles. You hungry?”

Before he can finish, Clint's flipped himself out of the letter and onto the roof, with a lithe gracefulness that belies his earlier calamity. Phil reaches out and tugs Clint close, lifts his chin so that Clint can see his lips.

“I love you.”

Clint flashes a grin, presses that athletic body up against Phil's, leans in close to whisper against his husband's lips.

“I love waffles.”

With a snicker, he darts inside and digs in. Phil sighs, but the corners of his mouth quirk up slightly as he joins Clint at the table.


	6. FalconHawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Continuation of First Time - Forced to work together
> 
> Warnings: Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, shower sex

He waits to say something until they're a hundred feet in the air, Sam carrying Clint as he fires off a series of arrows at this weird green squid that had attached itself to Stark tower and was apparently eating the electricity.

“We should probably talk about how we fucked once.”

Sam almost drops him.

“Jesus, Barton!”

“It was Oh God last time,” Clint remarks calmly as he lets an explosive arrow loose.

Sam can't help but laugh, that is until a tentacle lashes out and clips one of his wings, and he starts to spiral.

“Fuck,” he yells.

Clint twists himself out of Sam's grip with a smirk. “Maybe if you're lucky.”

Sam swear again as Clint falls, then he doesn’t have time for anything as the squid strikes him right across the back and he goes flying out over the harbour.

Clint calmly presses his receiver. “Need pickup.”

Steve Rogers takes a running start, hits the top of a car and flings himself in the air, catches Clint around the waist, and lands on one knee.

“My hero,” Clint clings, which makes Steve blush faintly, and then he's off again, weaving through agitated appendages.

-

It's Bruce's alter ego who finishes off the thing, ripping it off the building and tearing it into wriggling rubbery pieces.

They're all covered in giant squid ink, and tentacle pieces by the time they get it taken care of, and all of them head for the showers.

Sam's just rinsed himself off when Clint drops down through the bathroom ceiling vent, perches on the toilet.

Sam jumps and drops his bottle of shampoo, narrows eyes at Clint. “What the fuck, Barton.”

Clint tilts his head, sharps eyes looking intently as if they could pierce through the mottled glass of the shower door.

And then he hops from his perch, and starts stripping.

“Uh, Barton?”

Clint reaches for the shower door and slides it open, looks into Sam's eyes challengingly and waits. Sam can't help looking Clint over, and well, Barton is nicely put together. So he can't be blamed for reacting.

Clint steps into the shower, which is nice and big with all kinds of fancy shit because Tony Stark, walks right past Sam and under the spray.

Sam considers for a long moment, then shrugs, crosses his arms and leans against the wall, and shamelessly watches the archer shower.

It's not until Clint wraps a soapy hand around himself that Sam kicks himself into motion, slowly moulding himself to Clint's back and sliding a hand around the shorter man.

“You need some help with that?”


	7. Brutasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Asexual!Bruce/Natasha
> 
> Warnings: Bruce/Natasha, Clint's a Dumbass, Loki is Creepy

Natasha pushes past all of them, walks right up to where Clint is sitting on the couch next to Bruce, and glares down at him.

He blinks at her and then slowly rises and gets out of her way. She nods once, sits down and kicks off her boots, puts her feet right in Bruce's lap and looks around daring anyone to say anything.

Bruce doesn't look up from the paper he's reading, absently rubs Natasha's foot with his free hand.

Clint sits on the back of the other couch behind Coulson, who is scanning papers of his own, though his is on a clipboard and he's making notes.

He peers at Natasha around Coulson, until the man lifts a hand up and shoves Clint backwards. Clint lands on his back and stares up at the ceiling while he catches his breath, and wonders.

-

Clint thought he had a good hiding place, right up until Natasha walks into the room. He's been watching Bruce for a couple hours without the man realizing. She comes in, pulls a gun and shoots at the ceiling. The bullet is exactly six inches from his foot.

Bruce ignores her and continues working on his programme.

“Next one goes right into your crotch, Barton.”

He doesn't move, at least not until she cocks the gun and lifts it again, and he can follow the trajectory. He moves along the spaces in between the panels of the ceiling, and the floor of the level above, and halts in the other corner of the room. Clint doesn't make a sound the entire time.

“Keep going,” she says mildly.

-

“Tonyyyyy...”

“Don't whine at me, Natasha did something to Jarvis and he won't film her at all. I still have no idea how she did it.”

Tony twists something inside the brewer and then closes it firmly. “There. C'mere and try it.”

Clint hops off the table and walks over, eying the pot with distrust. “What do I do?”

“Tell it what you like and it'll make it.”

Barton narrows his eyes. “A cup of regular coffee with two creams?”

The machine whirrs to life, and then there's a strange little _pop_.

“Uh, Stark?”

Tony hits the dirt as a stream of boiling hot water shoots from the device. Clint is not so lucky.

-

“I'm not that kind of doctor.” Clint puppydog eyes him, and Bruce sighs as he goes to get the first aid kit.

“What's up with you and Natasha?” He doesn't even realize he's going to ask before it pops out of his mouth.

Bruce freezes for a heartbeat, then methodically returns to wrapping Clint's arm.

“What makes you think there's something going on?”

Clint snorts. “She let you touch her.” He looks up at Bruce. “She hates to be touched.”

Bruce shrugs non-commitally. “Why does it matter to you?”

“She's my best friend and I don’t' want her to get hurt.”

“Pretty sure,” Bruce says as he snips the medical tape, “That she can take care of herself.”

Clint shakes his head. “You're wrong. She's-” His eyes flick to where the lady in question is leaning against the doorway. “-a really amazing person, you'reverylucky,” and he hits the deck, rolls, and then ducks through the open window.

Bruce arches a brow, looks away from the window and tilts his head at Natasha. She smirks and slides an arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder briefly.

“Ready?” She disengages as he nods and puts his things away, before following her out the door.

-

“Come on, you can totally invisible yourself and sneak up on her!”

One elegant dark brow lofts. “What's in it for me?”

“Uh.”

Loki tells Clint his price.

Clint discovers he doesn't care as much as he thought.

-

“Are you ever going to tell him?”

Natasha settles on their couch with a bowl of popcorn, nestles into Bruce's side, and shrugs. “It's not his business.”

“He's your best friend.”

“He's also my former lover.” She looks up at Bruce significantly. “I'd really rather not go down that route...have to _explain_.”

Bruce chews some popcorn thoughtfully, then shrugs and turns back to Mythbusters. 

 

 

 


	8. Skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Skye, self-cest - cloning ray

“How did I get stuck doing inventory,” Skye mutters as she makes her way through yet another storage room, “and furthermore, why didn't Shield have inventory already?”

“I'm fairly certain,” Simmons says in her prim voice, “that you volunteered.”

“Besides,” Fitz pokes his head around the corner. “They did have inventory. But it was on the servers that got destroyed.”

“Plus,” Jemma joins in again, “we've been haphazardly storing recovered items wherever they'd fit as they came in with recovered agents.”

“They'd been coming in by two and threes until Tony Stark showed up.” Leo pursed his lips. “Hack,” was muttered under his breath.

Skye finishes writing down the serial number on a case and then opens it to catalogue the contents. “I did _not_ volunteer. I didn't even come _close_ to volunteering.”

Simmons gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, you did say that you felt useless-”

“-and right in front of the Director, too.” Fitz finishes and then steps around the corner to start on the next row.

“What? I-? Ugh.” Skye sighs and goes to the next case, but this one doesn't have a number on it, at least not that she can see. Naturally, it's huge and heavy.

“Hey Fitz, Simmons, can you help me with this?”

Jemma comes over and starts shoving along with Skye, while Fitz tugs from the other side. It flips over, right on Leo's foot and he swears. “Bloody hell.”

“Fitz!,” exclaims Jemma as she rushes to his side, dropping her corner of the case. It breaks open as it hits the floor, and pieces go everywhere.

“Oh just great,” Skye grumbles, and starts gathering all the scattered plastic and metal up.

“We'll be back Skye, I've got to get his foot checked out. Fitz has very sensitive feet.”

“Simmons,” he says and she blinks at him.

“What, it's the truth.”

“I really don't think its necessary to be going on...”

Their voices fade, still bickering as Fitz limps down the hallway leaning heavily on Jemma.

Skye rolls her eyes and starts trying to put pieces back together.

It's like a jigsaw puzzle that she doesn't have the cover for and she can't tell what goes where. Muttering about clumsy rocket scientists, Skye starts shoving pieces wherever she can fit them. It's totally not put together right but it really doesn't matter since, the damned thing still isn't labeled, there's no numbers on any of it.

“Probably doesn't even work,” she says tot he wall and then closes the lid, at least tries to, but it won't shut. She shoves it down, then sits on it, reaches down to click the buckle, but something side makes a whirring noise.

“Aw crap.” Skye opens the case once again, and a dark red light is blinking somewhere among the tangle of parts. She reaches in to shut off whatever she had turned on, but the whole thing starts to vibrate. Skye jumps and tugs her hand, but it's caught, and then the red light grows brighter and brighter until it's all she can see while she screams for help.

And then everything goes dark.

“Fitz'll be alright, nothing's fractured,” Simmons says as she wanders back into the storage room just in time to hear the scream, see the flash of red light.

“Skye,” she says and rushes around the corner, gasping and covering her mouth. There are two identical Skyes on the floor in front of her.

-

“But which one is the real Skye?”

“I am,” the duo say in unison, then turn identical glares on one another.

“They both are,” Simmons explains, “a perfect genetic match.”

“The good part of all this,” explains Fitz, “is that we were able to identify the machine from what it did!” He looks around cheerfully, and then his grin fades at the trio of exasperated looks.

“Basically, within twenty-four hours, one of the Skyes will become genetically unstable, and eventually fall apart.”

“Which one?” The Skyes, again simultaneously.

Simmons shrugs and shakes her head. “At this point, there's no way to know.”

-

Skye flops onto her bed while Other Skye sprawls across her desk chair.

“We can't both be Skye,” the one on the bed says. “You be Mary Sue.”

“No,” the other one returns, “You be Mary Sue.”

“That name sucked.”

“Yeah, it really did.”

There's a moment of silence.

“How about Starr?”

“Ooh, I've always liked that name.”

“Okay, I'm Starr and you're Skye.”

“Done.”

There's another long few minutes of silence.

Starr looks over to the bed. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

Skye's lips twitch in amusement. “...probably?”

She sits up and looks at Starr, who licks her lips, scoots the desk chair right up to the bed.

“Definitely,” Skye whispers, and then leans in to press her lips against her doppleganger's.

Its a soft, chaste kiss and she pulls back after, tilting her head. Skye feels like she should be shy, but it's not weird or awkward at all.

“Okay?” Starr questions and Skye nods and grins.

“Hell yeah, come here.” Skye pulls Starr out of the chair, and on top of her in the bed.

Starr twines her fingers in Skye's as she licks her way into her double's mouth.

“This should be weird.” Starr mumbles against the other woman's lips, and Skye grins. “I was just thinking that.”

“Of course you were,” Starr grins and then nips at Skye's lower lip before attacking the exact spot on her twin's neck that sends a jolt of electricity all the way through her.

She slides her hand up underneath Skye's shirt, hesitates and looks into the soft brown eyes. “Okay?”

Skye nods breathlessly. “Yeah. Like way yeah.”

Starr grins and tugs Skye to a sitting position, pulls her shirt off and flings it across the room, tugs her own off. She pulls Skye close, skin against skin, leans in and twines her tongue with Skye's once more.

“How far we going?” Skye murmurs against Starr's lips.

Her doppleganger's lips twist into a smirk.

“All the way, baby.”


	9. BlackPepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Natasha/Pepper - Dragons

“Here there be dragons.” The amused voice rolls over the conn.

“Really, Tasha? You think this is a time for jokes.” Pepper sighs. She's dating a five year old. Again.

“There's always times for jokes, baby.” There's the sound of several explosions.

“Not when there are alien dragons lighting Manhattan on fire.”

“I'm beginning to regret giving you a suit, Pepp.” Tony breaks in to their discussion. “Have a domestic on your own time.”

“Oh hey, Tony, why does her suit have boobs?” Natasha swears and the sound of a rushing flame comes across the speakers, and Pepper has a moment of panic.

“Boobs are great- Ow! Tasha hit me, Coulson.”

“You deserved it, Clint, dropping off a load of arrows, in 3, 2-”

“Ow, fuck, did you throw that at my head, Tony?”

“Codenames over the conn, people.” Steve's voice is exasperated.

“Pepper doesn't have a codename, Cap.” There's silence, then a few more explosions. “Seriously Tony, have you ever even seen female anatomy?”

“Headed your way, Pepp, and yes, _Widow_ , I've seen plenty.”

“Three of them, Ton- _Iron Man_?” Pepper sighs and takes off from her position, sends an arc of electricity at the lead dragon following Tony. “They really are ridiculous, you know.”

“You said you liked the suit,” Tony's voice is hurt as he wrenches the wing off a dragon, then goes flying as the tail whips him into the air.

“Those boobs aren't even in the right place though!”

“You would know, Tash- Ow! Why do I always end up where you can hit me?”

“You're a closet masochist.” Natasha is smug.

“Not so much closet.”

There's a moment of silence, and then Tony's laughter breaks out. “Director, I am going to buy you a drink for that.”

“We could call her Iron Boob- Ow!”

“Iron Lady?” Steve ventures, breathless as Pepper watches him leap from a building

“Already taken. Lady Machine?” Natasha muses.

“That's stupid. How about She-Bot?”

“Yeah because that's less stupid, Clint.” Natasha's voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“Do you guys always talk this much during a battle?”

“You have no idea, Pepper.”

“How do you deal with it, Phil?”

“ _Code names_.”

“Sorry, St- Cap. I'm new to this whole thing.”

“You do need a code name though.”

“Why do we even have code names. Everyone knows who we are.”

“You're just mad because no one cares- Clint!”

“Widow?” Coulson's voice is concerned.

“Look, I'm riding a dragon!”

“I'm going to fucking kill you.” Natasha grumbles at him.

“Get in line,” growls Coulson.

“Although,” muses Natasha.

“No, Tash- _Widow_ , don't you _dare_.” Pepper ducks a blast wave of fire and turns her head, desperately scanning the skyline and yes, her girlfriend and her girlfriend's best friend are standing on top of flying dragons. “I'm going to get an ulcer.”

“Welcome to the club,” Coulson mutters. “Anyone got a location on the Hulk?”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Steve whistles low right after Tony's declaration, and Pepper follows Iron Man's gaze to see that Hulk is on top of a dragon as well.

“All of you are batshit crazy.”

“Welcome to being a superhero- Fuck!”

Pepper sees Tasha fall and she reacts before even thinking about it, leaves Tony fighting alone and flies right to catch Natasha.

Black Widow smirks up at her girl. “My hero...ine.” She flutters her lashes as Pepper opens the visor, looks at the woman, exasperated. “I think we should call you Rescue.”

“She-Bot is better,” mumbles Clint as he shoots arrow after arrow into the dragon's neck below him. And then he takes a step backward as the women watch, crouches and then backflips into open air.

“Hawk!”

“Got him.” Cap leaps through the air an impossible distance, snags Clint out of the air as the dragon explodes from within.

“My hero,” Clint says in a falsetto, and Pepper can see him wrap him arms around Steve's neck.

“Hey guys, if you're done with the romance novel shit, I could use some help.”

Tony sounds weary and as Pepper looks over, she sees that five of the alien beasts have converged on him.

“Crap,” Pepper puts her visor down again, and Natasha points to a tall building.

“Drop me off there, Rescue.”

“She-Bot!”

“Shut up, Clint.” Four voices in unison.

Pepper lands atop one of the dragons shooting fire at Tony, and uses the enhanced strength of the suit to start ripping off scales.

Hulk wraps his massive hands around the neck of the one he's flying on and yanks it upwards at a sharp angle. He and the dragon fall, spiraling out until they hit the ground.

“Bruce!” Cap takes off towards the Hulk at a run.

“ _Code names_ ,” everyone yells at Steve.

-

“I can't believe there were fucking _dragons_.” Pepper curls up on the couch, takes a sip of her glass of wine.

“And you were my knight in shining armor.” Natasha wiggles her brows as she comes up behind Pepper, slides her arms around the taller woman.

“Does that make you my princess?” Pepper lifts her face to nuzzle against Natasha.  
“Not a princess, a khaleesi,” Natasha smirks.

“Who let her watch Game of Thrones?” Tony wanders in with doughnuts. “It just seems like a way to give her really bad ideas.”

“Trust me, those guys don't hold a candle to what Tash can do.” Clint drops from the ceiling to snatch three doughnuts from the box and then vaults back up into it.

“Does Clint live in the ceiling?” Pepper wonders as she tilts her head, watching him slide the ceiling panel back into place.

“Its a thing, don't ask.” Natasha grabs one of Pepper's favorites along with her own and then curls into the taller woman's side.

“What's the plan for tonight, khaleesi?”

Natasha turns and whispers in Pepper's ear, and she closes her eyes and clears her throat, as Tash pulls back with a smirk.

Pepper casually reaches out and takes Natasha's plate, sets in on the coffee table along with her own.

Natasha arches a brow as Pepper pulls her to her feet, and then squeaks as Pepper actually throws the redhead over her shoulder.

“You've been working out, Pepper,” Tony mumbles around his doughnut, arches a brow as she flips him off and goes down the hallway with her prize.

“Don't wait up,” Natasha calls out, before making another noise as pepper does something he can't see.

Tony waits until they're out of sight.

“Jarvis.”

“Not a chance, sir.”


	10. Phlint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: phlint + blue

“That is not okay, that is the _opposite_ of okay.”

Natasha follows Clint's gaze to see Director Coulson in a blue v-neck sweater and a pair of fitted jeans.

“The old man looks good”, she grins and glances over, but Clint has vanished. She glances up just in time to see the ceiling tile slide back into place. Natasha rolls her eyes.

She grabs Clint's leftover bowl of blueberries, and starts flicking them at random people. Until Bruce shifts his coffee cup, leans forward to illustrate a point, and instead of landing in said cup, the blueberry splats his right in the forehead.

Tasha carefully places the blueberries back and digs into her oatmeal. Bruce settles down on the bench across from her, reaches out and grabs the fork she hasn't used, some leftover containers, and starts silently building a catapult.

By the time Coulson comes looking for Clint, they have a whole array of weapons made from trash, and they're locked in a battle of wills to not be the first to speak.

“Either of you seen Clint?”

Both of them point up at the ceiling then return the their construction. Coulson shakes his head, thinks those two have a very odd relationship.

He heads to his office, shuts the door loudly, leans on his chair so it makes a noise like he's sat down, and then steps to the far corner to wait. He hears just the faintest scrape above him, and grabs the baseball bat from the corner and shoves it upward, pushing the ceiling tile up and to the side as he stapes back and watches Clint tumble to the ground.

“Agent Barton, good of you to drop in. I have your next assignment.”

Clint blinks up at him from the floor, reaches up and puts his hand in the offered one. He looks into those blue eyes as he gets to his feet, and flinches back when Coulson reaches out runs his thumb across a purpling bruise on Clint's cheek.

“You're hurt.”

“Someone took a baseball bat to me.”

Coulson tsks and shakes his head. “You should be more careful Agent Barton. Never know when there's going to be a bat aimed at your head.”

Clint snorts and takes a step back, manages to find said bat with his foot, and loses his balance. He suddenly finds himself in Coulson's arms, face pressed up against the soft blue sweater. He must make a noise because Coulson pulls back a bit and looks down, concerned.

“You okay, Clint?”

Clint looks up and Coulson's face is just inches from his own and he's got that blue sweater on and his arms are around Clint, and he can't possibly be held responsible for his actions in the face of such provocation.

Clint surges up and mashes his lips against that of the older man, his boss, the director of fucking SHIELD. It takes ten seconds for his brain to catch up, and then he whimpers as he pushes himself back and escapes through the door.

Phil blinks after Clint, lifts his hand to his lips. He's still standing there like that when his phone rings. Coulson startles and reaches, thumbs the screen lock off.

“Hill?”

“Sire, there's a food fight in the cafeteria.”

Coulson pinches the brow of his nose. “And?”

“Sir, Stark's just gotten involved.”

Coulson looks after where Clint has vanished, and then sighs. “I'm on my way.”

-

Clint wakes up to a light flashing on his face, and jumps up, grabbing his hearing aids with one hand and his bow with the other. He comes up short when he sees Coulson standing in the middle of his living room.

“Boss?” he queries and Phil just blinks, and then advances on him with a heat in those blue eyes that makes his knees weak. Coulson reaches out and takes the bow from Clint's hands and tosses it across the room, and then shoves the archer against the wall.

Clint opens his mouth to say something but it's forestalled by Coulson– _Phil's_ lips on his, hot and heavy...and absolutely perfect.

Phil's voice is _wrecked_ when he pulls back and he murmurs against Clint's lips. “Don't ever run from me again.”

Clint smirks slowly. “Yes, _sir_.”

 


	11. Phlint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Phlint - “It's hard to leave when you can't find the door.” Life's Been Good – Joe Walsh

Clint's going to die. He's going to die right here in the sewers of New York and he doesn't even know how he got down here. There was an explosion, and then he was underground, and his left hearing aid got damaged so he's offbalance, and alone. Very, very alone.

Except not. Because there's a whoosing, slithey sound behind him, and he's stringing and letting go before he realizes, and then a giant liazrd thing lands at his feet.

“Oh hey there, mothra. Thanks for the warm welcome, but I'll pass on the being eaten by reptiles today.”

Clint taps his communicator but it doesn't respond in the least and he sighs. “I should have stayed in bed today.”

-

“You. Lost. Barton.”

The man hasn't been with Shield long enough to note the danger under the icy calm exterior. “Yeah, boss, communication cut out same time as that explosion midtown.”

“I see. Dismissed.”

He leaves, and Phil stalks to his window, looks out over the city towards the explosion. They've _just_ got themselves back on the right side of the government, just pulled everyone together at Stark – Avengers – Tower.

He sets his jaw, thinks about the look in Clint's eyes when he'd come around the corner, tanned from being undercover in the Middle East, and come face to face with the new – and very not dead – Director of Shield.

_Phil tried to stop the hallway briefing, but Maria talked right over him, and as he turned to grab her arm, to ask for her to give them a minute, Clint vanished._

“ _No one told Barton I was alive,” he said flatly, and Hill had blinked and shrugged._

“ _Need to know, boss.”_

“ _No one told me Barton was back in the country.”_

“ _We've got bigger priorities, Coulson.” And then she continued with her report. He hadn't heard a word._

Phil hasn't seen Clint since. He makes a decision and suits up.

-

“One little, two little, three little lizard men,” Clint sings as he stabs the eye of the third one with an arrow. And then wipes it off and puts it back in his quiver, of course.

“Can you eat lizard?” He wonders out loud, then shrugs. “Probably tastes like chicken. I hate chicken.”

Clint walks for what seems like a good hour, slogging along, and then he thinks he hears something, orients himself, turning slowly in place until yes. That sound like rushing water.

“That's got to be good right?” He asks a rat who pokes its head out of a crack to sniff at him, and then ducks back away when he addresses it. “Hm, guess not.”

Turns out it's not running water, but a room – cavern? – full of hissing lizard guys.

“Nope, not good.” He eyes his quiver. Clint has eleven arrows. So be it.

“Alright, which eleven of you bastards feel like dying today?”

-

“You idiot,” Phil grumbles at the prone body of the archer as he tugs it behind him, after fireblasting the creatures that Clint had been losing a fight to, and calling in Cap and Stark to handle the rest of the incursion.

“Wake up so I can yell at you,” he mutters as he pulls Clint into his lap, and cradles him. “You reckless, insane – ” He's cut off as a finger is placed to his mouth and he looks down to see those gorgeous eyes looking up at him.

Clint taps his ear and then lifts his hands to sign, but he's got a couple broken fingers. He rolls his eyes at his predicament, but tries to push himself free of Coulson anyway.

“Oh no, you sit there and shut up.”

Clint glares but Phil stares him down until he gives up with a huff and looks away. Phil gently cups his chin, avoiding the purpling bruise there and turns his face back so that he can read the Director's lips.

“Fury didn't know, and by the time I knew that you hadn't been told, you were too deep undercover.”

Clint's lips thin, but he's paying attention, and that's the most Phil can hope for right now. He fishes the chain from around his neck, tugs out the silver ring with the arrow engraved on it, and holds it where Clint can see it.

The blue eyes well up, but Clint blinks it away as soldiers start dropping down from above and they strap Clint to a bed and carry him away.

Phil watches his husband, and he sees Clint make an awkward sign with his left hand.

ILY.

Coulson sags against the sewer wall in relief.


	12. Souson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Modern AU

They meet at the VA.

Daniel is there getting his prosthetic leg adjusted. Jack is there for a mandatory therapy session for his PTSD.

Daniel thinks Jack's kind of an asshole.

Jack thinks Daniel's gorgeous. So, like everything else in his life, he ruins any chance he might ever have with Sousa. He can't keep himself from insulting the guy that he wants to –

No, no he doesn't. Want to. Anything.

No, that kind of thing might fly in New York where Sousa's from, but Jack is from the Corn Belt, and he's gotta go back there and live. He's got a grandmother and a whole host of cousins and siblings he's been sending his paychecks home to.

Sousa'd never fit in there anyway. Gam-Gam wouldn't let him in the door.

No, Jack's gotta stop thinking about this guy that he's known for all of five seconds.

-

“I met someone today.” Jack says suddenly into the silence.

Dr. Martinelli nods and tilts her head. “Tell me about your someone.”

Jack abruptly gets up and paces. “He's a no one, really.” He stares out her window.

“But...” She prompts.  
“But,” Jack echoes. “He could have been.”

-

“Absolutely _gorgeous_ , tall blond, built like a quarterback....” Daniel trails off and sighs.

“Let me guess,” Peggy says, leaning back and sipping her latte thoughtfully. “So far into the closet, he was in Narnia.”

Daniel just _looks_ at her.

Peggy shrugs. “You have a type.”

He sighs and then shrugs it off. “Anyway, I'm off to my grandmother's for the Seder.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Peggy says. “Give her a kiss from me.”

-

“You weren't here last week.” Somehow Jack manages to make it sound like an accusation rather than an observation.

Daniel arches a brow. “It was Passover.”

Jack is silent a moment. “Did you have a nice holiday?” It's oddly intense for such a mundane question.

“As such things go,” Daniel answers cautiously.

Jack nods. “Good.”

Daniel thinks the guy is really weird. But still cute.

-

Their conversations continues to be awkward until Daniel mentions basketball, and suddenly Jack dives in, eyes blazing with passion. That's the moment that seals it for Daniel, those blue eyes lit up, the way Jack's hands gesture to emphasize a point. They're so deep into it the receptionist has to call Jack's name three times.

-

Pretty soon they're going to games and catching beers after, and crashing at each other's places. Surprisingly, it's Jack who makes the first move, and it's not a sudden attack of fierce passion like Daniel imagined it (yes, he might have imagined it a time or twelve). No, this is a sudden moment of Jack looking down at him, then lowering his lips so very slowly, just brushing them across Daniel's softly and sweetly, hand cupping the shorter man's cheek.

Daniel just blinks slowly up at him when he pulls away, and Jack smiles wryly.

“I tried so hard not to love you.”

 

 


	13. Souson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Soulmate-tattoo AU
> 
> Note: This is a little bit dub-con in regards to the soulmate bond. No sexual component.

Daniel Sousa keeps his soulmate mark covered up with long sleeves. 

No one thinks anything of him hiding it. After the Depression and then the subsequent War, many people have lost loved ones, and many soulmates were taken before their time. Everyone assumes he’s lost his, and put it out of their minds.

Except Jack. Because Jack Thompson has seen it.

_They had to change real quick on a mission and Sousa wasn’t worried about covering it up too quickly in the midst of the frantic escape._

Jack’s is on his left hip and it’s a perfect match. He’s used to turning it away from prying eyes when he changes, so he knows that no one’s seen it.  He slaps a bandage over it if he’s with someone.

_When they get home from that mission, Jack takes some time to dwell in the fantasy of how it might be to be with Sousa, and then he takes those gossamer fantasies and hides them behind a thick steel door with multiple locks in his mind._

He turns his full attention to work. And he does his best not to give any special attention to Sousa, even going to far as to be intentionally dismissive and perhaps a bit nasty.  He’s not going to be told what to do by anyone, including fate.

Daniel doesn’t make it easy.  It doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly handsome and his smile could melt ice.  But even more, the bastard is incredibly capable at his job, and  _smart_.  Scary smart. His disability doesn’t get in his way at all, and he’s always calm and unruffled.  He really is the perfect foil for Jack.

Jack hates him for it. As much as he can, because he knows that he also loves Daniel.

It gets easier once the Chief is killed, because Jack takes over and he can distance himself a bit more.  

Until he has to take to the field for a mission, and he gets hurt.

It’s just his bad luck that Sousa’s nearby and is the first to come to Jack’s aid.

“I’m fine,” he insists, and Daniel rolls his eyes.

“You’re gushing blood, you idiot,” is all he says, and then tears Jack’s shirt to look at the wound.

“No!” Jack cries, but it’s too late.  The blood dripping from his side coats the mark, but it’s clearly visible.

Jack looks up into stunned brown eyes. He can’t hide the truth from Daniel, so he just looks away.

“How – ” Daniel clears his throat as he presses the makeshift bandages into Jack’s side to staunch the bleeding. “How long have you known?”

Jack just closes his eyes and tightens his lips.  He’s not going to have this discussion.

Fortunately Peggy comes in at that moment and takes over.  When Jack opens his eyes, Sousa is gone.

 _Good_ , he thinks,  _the last thing I need is that complication._ But if he thinks Daniel is going to just let it go, he’s _completely_  wrong.

They’ve been back in the States for less than a day before he comes to see Jack in the hospital.

Sousa stomps into his room, slams the door behind him. “When were you going to tell me?” he demands.

Jack arches a brow. “Afternoon, Sousa, everything in order back at the office?”

“Is it because I’m on crutches?”

“You should have Peggy look into that Red Baron thing.  She speaks German.”

“Dammit, Jack, fucking  _look_  at me!”

Jack does, in a bit of surprise, because Daniel almost never swears, but his gaze skates away just as quickly.

“We should have Stark build some armor for us,” he murmurs to the floor.

Daniel shuffles over, grabs a fistful of Jacks’ hospital gown and shakes him a bit.

“Damn you, Jack,  _why_?”

“There’s a stack of papers that need to be filed – ” He’s cut off by the crush of lips onto his, and Jack just doesn’t have any defense against Daniel’s kiss.  He melts into it and he doesn’t notice Daniels hand moving.  Does notice until the mark on Sousa’s wrist is placed against the one on his hip, and the flare of the bond between them settles into place.

Jack violently shoves Daniel away, so hard that he falls to the floor, but it’s too late.  The empathetic tie between them is firmly in place.

Daniel looks up at Jack, eyes overflowing with tears at the black roiling mass of self-loathing and insecurities that make up Jack Thompson.

“Leave. Now.” Jack growls, a dark red flush of anger pulsing in Daniel’s mind, but underneath it is a deep dark ocean of abandonment, and Daniel shakes his head.

“Never.”


	14. Souson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Modern AU

They meet at the VA.  

Daniel is there getting his prosthetic leg adjusted. Jack is there for a mandatory therapy session for his PTSD.  

Daniel thinks Jack’s kind of an asshole.

Jack thinks Daniel’s gorgeous. So, like everything else in his life, he ruins any chance he might ever have with Sousa.  He can’t keep himself from insulting the guy that he wants to –

No, no he doesn’t.  Want to. Anything.

No, that kind of thing might fly in New York where Sousa’s from, but Jack is from the Corn Belt, and he’s gotta go back there and live.  He’s got a grandmother and a whole host of cousins and siblings he’s been sending his paychecks home to.

Sousa’d never fit in there anyway. Gam-Gam wouldn’t let him in the door.

No, Jack’s gotta stop thinking about this guy that he’s known for all of five seconds.

-

“I met someone today.” Jack says suddenly into the silence.

Dr. Martinelli nods and tilts her head. “Tell me about your someone.”

Jack abruptly gets up and paces. “He’s a no one, really.” He stares out her window.

“But…” She prompts.  
“But,” Jack echoes. “He could have been.”

-

“Absolutely  _gorgeous_ , tall blond, built like a quarterback….” Daniel trails off and sighs.

“Let me guess,” Peggy says, leaning back and sipping her latte thoughtfully. “So far into the closet, he was in Narnia.”

Daniel just  _looks_  at her.

Peggy shrugs. “You have a type.”

He sighs and then shrugs it off. “Anyway, I’m off to my grandmother’s for the Seder.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Peggy says. “Give her a kiss from me.”

-

“You weren’t here last week.” Somehow Jack manages to make it sound like an accusation rather than an observation.

Daniel arches a brow. “It was Passover.”

Jack is silent a moment. “Did you have a nice holiday?” It’s oddly intense for such a mundane question.

“As such things go,” Daniel answers cautiously.

Jack nods. “Good.”

Daniel thinks the guy is really weird. But still cute.

-

Their conversations continues to be awkward until Daniel mentions basketball, and suddenly Jack dives in, eyes blazing with passion.  That’s the moment that seals it for Daniel, those blue eyes lit up, the way Jack’s hands gesture to emphasize a point.  They’re so deep into it the receptionist has to call Jack’s name three times.

-

Pretty soon they’re going to games and catching beers after, and crashing at each other’s places. Surprisingly, it’s Jack who makes the first move, and it’s not a sudden attack of fierce passion like Daniel imagined it (yes, he might have imagined it a time or twelve). No, this is a sudden moment of Jack looking down at him, then lowering his lips so very slowly, just brushing them across Daniel’s softly and sweetly, hand cupping the shorter man’s cheek.

Daniel just blinks slowly up at him when he pulls away, and Jack smiles wryly.

“I tried so hard not to love you.”


	15. Poly!Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bruce finally just getting loved up by whomever stumbles across his sleepy, messy-curled self in the main room. Don't care whether poly or smutty or anything but some hurt/comfort fix would be very appreciated.

“Stark.”

There's a threat inherent in the voice that his unconscious mind recognizes before Tony's even truly awake, because by the time he's sitting up in his bed, all his sense are on high alert. He has just enough time to recognize Natasha standing at the side of his bed, before Clint drops down through the ceiling, and lands with both feet directly behind Tony. Tony opens his mouth to ask, but Clint's not through. He uses the cushiness of the bed to push off, and vaults over Tony using his shoulders as the pommel horse, twists in the air, and lands on the floor at the foot of Tony's bed facing him.

Tony blinks, shuts his mouth with a snap as he realizes that it's still open, and narrows his eyes at Clint, then follows his gaze back to Natasha, who's gesturing at the archer. Clint gestures back, and Tony's pretty sure they're yelling at each other.

“Jarvis,” Tony says, forgetting for a moment that he's annoyed with the AI, “What are they saying?”

“My Russian Sign Language is a bit rusty, sir,” Jarvis murmurs in his ear, “but I believe Ms. Romanov said 'eight point five'. To which, Mr. Barton responded with something rude about her mother and swine.”

Tony watches the back and forth a moment as the Dynamic Super Assassin Spy Duo argue about Clint's entrance, and then clears his throat.

They both stop at the same moment and snap their heads around to look at him.

“Hi, I'm the guy that sleeps here, what the fuck are you doing in my bedroom at four thirty in the morning? And Jarvis,” Tony remembers his irritation, “how did they get past your security?”

“You hadn't explicitly barred Mr. Barton from your rooms, sir,” Jarvis says apologetically.

Natasha pats the walls. “Jarvis and I have an understanding.”

Tony buries his face in his hands. “ _Why are you here_?” he says in a muffled tone.

Clint perches on the foot-board of his bed and looks at Natasha.

“You have to do something about Bruce,” she says, leaning forward with that terrifying intensity of hers.

“Bruce?” Tony says, already climbing out of bed. “Is he alright? What happened?”

It's not until he doesn't receive an answer that Tony realizes he neglected to don pajamas. Natasha sighs and averts her eyes. Clint falls backwards off the bed.

“Ow,” he says to the ceiling as Tony wraps a sheet around himself.

“Jarvis, show me Bruce.”

The wall shimmers and becomes a vid screen, showing Bruce Banner curled up on the couch in the main room, shaggy curls awry, arms wrapped around one of the soft throws from his room.

Tony's heart shatters, then reforms only to melt again.

“Yeah, that,” Natasha says from behind him, where she's curled up in his bed. “I really can't deal with that looking at me.”

Clint's already snoring in his chair.

“You people have your own rooms,” Tony grumbles, but he shuts the door quietly and gives Jarvis a Do Not Disturb order.

Tony wanders into the main room, watches Bruce sleep for about thirty seconds, then goes and pours himself a drink. He tosses it back, looks at Bruce again, then goes looking for Steve. Who ends up being in Thor's room on a pallet on the floor.

“Does no one sleep in their own room?” Tony mutters under his breath.

Steve shrugs as Thor sits up on the bed and well, looks like Tony isn't the only one who sleeps in the nude. Unlike Tony, Thor doesn't seem to intend on covering anything up.

“We are warriors, my friend,” Thor says cheerfully. “Used to the comfort of our fellow soldiers around us.”

“Nat and I, too,” Clint says as he falls into Thor's bed, ogling the Asgardian. “Shield usually sends us together.”

“Are you here to berate us for our sleeping choices, Stark?” Steve says, arching an eyebrow.

Tony wonders how he can possibly have such perfect hair upon waking. “Uh, no, actually, I wanted to talk to you.” He looks around. “Outside.”

Steve arches a brow and looks around at the others. Natasha's appeared from nowhere to join Clint and Thor in his bed, the Asgardian in between the spies. He nods and rises, following Tony out into the hallway, and into the main room after that. Tony watches Steve face soften, and the smile curve his lips as he looks down at Bruce. Steve pads into the kitchen after Tony as he pours himself another shot.

“Barton and Romanov are demanding I do something about Bruce.”

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the fridge. “What?”

“I don't know,” Tony sighs, running his hand through his still sleep-mussed hair. “Why is he sleeping on the couch?”

“You could ask him,” Steve suggests.

“I'm not good with that kind of stuff.”

Steve arches a brow.

“You know,” Tony explains, “empathy, kindness, listening.” He turns those big brown eyes on the Captain. “Can't you talk to him?”

Steve shakes his head. “I'm not the one he loves.” He claps a hand on Tony's shoulder and leaves Stark standing there, staring after him.

“Wait, what?”

But Steve is already gone, already sliding back into the sleeping bag along with the spy who's claimed it, already drifting off to sleep curled around her, while Clint sleeps with Thor's heartbeat in his ears.

Tony sighs, sets his cup down, and walks back into the main room, settles gingerly down onto the couch next to Bruce, and gently reaches out to brush a curl from the sleeping man's forehead.

“Bruce,” he whispers, carding his hand through the unruly mop of curls, “Bruce, wake up.”

Sleepy eyes flutter then blink once, twice.

“Tony?” he says, confused. “What's the matter?”

“Shh,” Tony responds, unable to stop petting Bruce, “It's fine, everything fine.” He tilts his head. “Bruce, why are you sleeping on the couch?”

Bruce closes his eyes and then forces a chuckle. “Oh, must have fallen asleep here last night.”

“Bruce, I watched you go to your room last night,” Tony murmurs.

Bruce shrugs.

“Hey, man, what's going on?” Tony stops playing with Bruce's hair and lifts the other man's chin to look him in the eyes.

Bruce closes his. “Nightmares,” he mumbles, ashamed of his weakness. Before he knows it, he's being pulled into Tony's arms.

“Tony,” he asks, voice muffled by the other man's shoulder, “what are you doing?”

“Hugging you, of course. Jarvis tells me that's what people do in these sorts of situations,” he jokes. “Why, am I doing it wrong?”

Bruce holds himself very stiffly in Tony's arms. “Uh, no, it's, um, fine.” He turns his head slightly and find his face buried in the crook of Tony's neck. He's never realized how good Tony smells before. “People just don't, uh, usually hug me. Or really touch me at all.”

Bruce winces as he realizes how pathetic he sounds, and starts to pull away. “Oh man, I'm just tired,” he turns his face up to looks apologetically up at Tony, “I'm sorry, I just – ”

He's cut off by the soft press of lips down onto his, and Bruce freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide open and shocked.

Tony's thumb runs along Bruce's cheekbone, and he smiles sheepishly down at the other man. “Sorry, I shouldn't have done that. You just look so fucking adorable right now.”

“I – What – You – ” Bruce flushes fiercely.

Tony lets Bruce go and rises, holds out his hand. “Come on, lets go to bed.”

Bruce just stares up at Tony's hand.

“To sleep.” Tony says softly, then grins a bit, eyes glinting teasingly. “Unless you want other things.”

“No!” Bruce gasps out, and then looks down. “I mean, yes, but – I can't. It, uh, doesn't end well.”

Tony tugs Bruce to his feet. “The Other Guy?”

Bruce nods and Tony slides his arms around the shorter man. “Good thing me and him are on good terms.” He pulls back and twines his fingers with Bruce's and leads the other man to his bedroom.

The door slides open and they steps through, only to see the other four all curled together in his bed.

“We figured you'd end up here,” comes Natasha's voice from somewhere, over the snoring from both Clint and Thor. “Climb on in.”

Tony looks at Bruce and tilts his head. He'll leave if Bruce isn't willing.

Bruce purses his lips, then shrugs and setting his jaw, strides over and climbs in a bit awkwardly until Steve nudges Clint over and wraps an arm around the scientist.

Tony sighs. “Hundreds of rooms and we're all together in this one,” he mutters as he squirms in, pressing his chest against Bruce's back, reaching out to curl his hand into Steve's.

“Good thing I've got a big bed.”


	16. Stucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'm gonna go with Bucky and Steve in a pie shop.

“I didn't think you even liked pie.” Bucky frowns faintly and looks around, automatically cataloging every possible threat, and all the exits and – _stops himself because he_ _doesn't have to be a weapon anymore._

“Aren't you allergic or something?” he says absently, going through his mental countdown, hearing Sam's voice in his mind talking him backward through the numbers to come back from being the Winter Soldier. “Plus you like chocolate cake,” he mumbles after getting to 'one'.

“Buck!” Steve says with a grin, “You remembered something!”

Bucky looks up at Steve – and he's still not used to looking up at Steve – and blinks in confusion. “You said that you liked chocolate cake three days ago, immediately after lunch. Stark said – ”

“No, the allergy thing,” Steve interrupts, knowing that Bucky will go on and give him the exact details of the conversation if he isn't stopped. “You remembered my allergies.”

Bucky tilts his head and pulls up his perfect recall of the conversation. “Affirmat – Uh, yeah.”

Steve slaps him on the back. “See, I knew it would start coming back to you.”

Bucky doesn’t like the feeling in his chest when Steve smiles like that. It feels like weakness. He turns away from Steve and scans the menu. “Options?” he demands, and Steve lists off three things that he can pick from. (Sam suggested that they start small after a particularly difficult moment in a clothing store.)

Bucky ends up with Apple while Steve goes for Pecan. They take their coffee and pie slices to the corner table (so Bucky can see everyone in the room) and settle them down.

“The greatest thing about being in the future,” says Steve as Bucky takes a bite and tries not to plan how he'd kill everyone in the room, “is all the choices you can have.”

Bucky chews thoughtfully, staring down at the slice of pie. He remembers having better. He thinks Steve's mom made it. He keeps the memory to himself.

“If you've always liked cake, you can have cake. But you can also have pie sometimes. Or maybe ice cream.” Steve points his fork at Bucky like he's making an important point. “Sometimes all three at once.”

Bucky thinks that was maybe a joke?, so he forces a smile. “Sounds like it will give you a stomachache.” He remembers the time they ate too many boxes of crackerjacks after saving up for weeks. He doesn't tell Steve about that memory either.

Bucky takes another bite of his pie before pushing it away and reaching for his coffee.

“Not a fan?” Steve queries, glancing at the slice.

“I think maybe I just like cake.”

Steve nods softly and finishes his pie in silence as Bucky drinks his coffee and remembers a girl with bright red hair that liked ice cream. It used to be a rare and special treat in the Soviet Union.

Steve rises and Bucky automatically follows, brow furrowing faintly. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

Steve smiles down at him, and there's something sad about it.

“Nevermind, Buck. It's not important.”


	17. Stucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hurt/Comfort, Stucky, please and thank you

“Fuck, just, move a little bit, Stevie, shift just, yes. Slide your hips.. Perfect.”

Bucky manages to shift Steve over in the bed, which is surprisingly difficult because Steve is much heavier now than he used to be. Especially without his strength.

Bucky collapses in, face flushed with the same fever that's got Steve passed the fuck out. Someone's engineered something that attacks only those with certain elements of the super soldier serum in them. (Natasha and Bruce are sharing the other bed in the hastily created sickroom.)

Steve's eyes open slowly as Bucky slides into unconsciousness, lashes sweeping delicately down and then slowly up ans he blinks dully. Being sick reminds him of the time before the serum, of the way he used to feel all the time. And that makes him angry.

Steve fuels his rage, hones it to a point, and uses it as energy, forces his body from the bed, tucking the covers tighter around Bucky, and grits his teeth as he locks himself into a standing position.

Inch by inch, step by difficult step, Steve shuffles to the door, then down the hallway, and into Stark's lab.

“Cap!” Tony bolts upright. “You should be in bed.”

“Need to help,” he gasps, then sits heavily onto a chair. “Any luck?”

Tony sighs. “Bruce is the expert in this, I'm just grasping at straws.”

Steve takes a few deep breaths. “Have you tried looking for a version of the flu?”

Tony snorts. “The _flu_ couldn't do this. Not without – ” And his eyes go wide.

“Help.” Steve finishes for him and raises his arm out. “Take some more blood.”

“ – and test for a flu superbug that attack your healing factor. Brilliant,” Tony mutters to himself as he grabs for the syringe.

Steve watches for a while, then heaves himself up, grateful suddenly for the years of life dealing with this kind of thing on a daily basis. He figures that gives him a bit more fortitude than the others. Steve drags himself into the kitchen, and manages to heat up a couple cans of soup. He throws a blanket around himself for the chills, and then makes his way back to Bucky's side.

“C'mon Bucky, up. Open up, there you go.”

He spoonfeeds Bucky the soup, and forces the other man to drink some water, and then manages to crawl back in beside him. Bucky turns and presses against Steve, rests his head on that strong chest, while Steve absently cards his hands through Bucky's newly cropped hair.

“We're gonna die, aren't we?” Bucky mumbles.

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve manages without a waver in his voice. “Stark's already working on a cure. Plus, you and I, Buck, we're too damned stubborn to die.”

Bucky breathes out a soft “Love you, Stevie.” before he slips into a coma.

-

The new direction Steve sent Tony in works, and in a few hours, Stark has an antidote. Steve makes Tony inject him first, to make sure it's not gonna do something else crazy to them. He doesn't leave Bucky's bedside the entire time.

After a few hours with no side effects, and the wonderful feeling of his strength returning, Steve gives the go ahead for Tony to inject the others.

His smiling face is the first thing Bucky sees when he wakes up.

 


	18. Vanessa/Wilson/James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you count daredevil as marvel bc I'd love to see Fisk and Wesley and Vanessa together. Maybe after the second restaurant scene?
> 
> Tags: D/s

There's a tremendous, heady rush in having Wilson Fisk go to his knees for her, Vanessa thinks. This giant of a man, both in statue and in terms of influence, bowing only to her. At this moment, she's a goddess, the center of his worship, and he waits with sublime patience for her commands.

James Wesley, on the other hand, is a twitching puppy, nervous with the sudden shock of his expectations unraveling. He's trying to keep a smooth demeanour, but his gaze keeps straying to the man he calls 'sir', and then darting jerkily back to her. James doesn't understand this and it's making him very nervous.

This, too, is a kind of power.

Vanessa strides closer, to where James halted just inside the doorway, tilts her head to study his expression. Even now, he can't keep himself from the tiny little glances at Wilson.

It's an interesting dynamic, and she wishes to explore it. After extended conversation with Wilson, he has agreed. He's concerned that James will no longer respect him.

Vanessa rather thinks the opposite.

“He's beautiful like that, isn't he?” she murmurs, turning herself so that she stand beside Wesley. “The curve of his neck, the strain of muscle holding him locked in position. It takes a great effort to achieve such perfection.”

James' eyes reluctantly slide back to Fisk, lingering as he is forced to notice the kneeling man once again.

“Do you desire him, James?”

Wesley starts in surprise, and though he quickly covers it up, Vanessa notices.

“Not...” He clears his throat. “Not like this.”

Vanessa quietly stalks a circle around James, no sound in the room, but that of her heels clicking upon the floor tile.

“How, James?” she says suddenly, wrenching his gaze once again away from Wilson. “How do you desire him?”

“I think,” he says after a deep breath. “I think I'd better leave.”

“Not at all, James. We want you here. Don't we Wilson?”

Fisk looks up for the first time, looking into James' eyes. “Stay.”

“So commanding,” Vanessa says fondly. “Even when kneeling. It's one of the beautiful contradictions of Wilson.” She places her hand on James' arm. “Come, my dear. Join us?”

Wilson gives James a half-smile, and it's that which decides him. He nods and follows her over.

“Strip him, Wilson.” Vanessa settles down lightly upon a chair and watches as Fisk rises to his full height, once again towering over them both, and reaches out surprisingly gentle fingers to pull James' tie from about his neck.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, tilting his head just so to look deep into James soul.

Wesley is helpless to refuse him. He nods in acquiescence, and Wilson continues to undress him so tenderly that it's nearly his undoing.

“Come here, boys,” says Vanessa when James is finally bared to her gaze, and Wilson leads the other man over, tugs James down into a kneel beside him.

“Very good, Wilson, thank you,” she says softly before turning her attention to Wesley. “Now James, tell me exactly how you desire Wilson, and we will make it all come true.”

 


	19. Brutasha

_Love is for children, she tells the dark god. But she is still a child._

I am always angry, he tells them, but they don’t hear what he means.

_She has never had autonomy or agency._

He and the other guy are not separate.

_It’s the hidden darkness that attracts her like a moth to the flame._

It’s the hidden fragility that attracts him like a shark to blood.

_She hides that he feels like home, like the familiar fearful days of her youth._

He hides how she makes him feel powerful, because she fears him.

_They don’t see that she’s falling apart behind the mask._

They don’t see that he is the monster.


	20. Souson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sousa/Thompson coffeeshop meet cute?

Jack Thompson has fifteen minutes to get to his train, and this line seems to be a mile long.   He waits and wait for his coffee, getting ever more impatient.  At last he has his beverage, and exactly five minutes to get to the stop.  He turns and walks briskly through the crowd towards the door, hyper-focused on his goal, mind already turning towards the report he has to write up, when he trips over something, and stumbles, juggling his coffee. Unfortunately for Jack, he grips the paper cup too hard in his attempt to keep it from spilling, and it explodes all over his white dress shirt.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, and looks down furiously to see what he’s tripped over.  It’s a damned crutch, and he looks up at the owner ready to bark at the old person leaving their things around.  And he looks into a pair of soft, brown eyes as the guy apologizes.  Jack is so stunned that he can’t even respond for a moment, tearing himself away from that gaze with a herculean effort, only to catch the time on the clock on the wall. “Dammit, I missed my train.”

“I can drive you,” crutch guy says, pushing himself up. “Might have a shirt you can borrow too.” He offers his hand. “Sousa. Daniel Sousa.”

Jack automatically puts his hand in the other’s. “Jack Thompson. Yeah, alright.” He runs a hand through his hair as he steps back, filled with confusion at his easy agreement. Which makes him angry all over again, and he’s seething by the time they reach Sousa’s car, and the stops and  _stares_ , lets out a low whistle. “Is that a ‘26 Imperial?”

Daniel grins as he pauses and leans on his crutch a bit. “Yeah, got her from my Dad when I graduated college.  He kept her up while I was overseas.”

Jack runs his hands over her hood and then smiles just a bit. “She’s a real beaut, Sousa.”

-

Turns out Sousa has a shirt in the back of his closet that’ll fit Jack, the late Mr. Sousa had been of a size with Thompson, and Daniel sets the soiled shirt in the sink to soak out that coffee stain. The tie was alright, already a dark brown color, so the coffee wasn’t showing, but Jack is used to doing his tie in a mirror, and he swears low as he fumbles it.

“You alright, Thompson?” Daniel pokes his head in the bedroom door to see Jack struggling with the damned thing. “Oh, sorry, broke the last mirror and never got it replaced. C'mere.”  Daniel looks up through his lashes, admiring the jawline of the taller man as he fixes Thompson’s tie, and then steps back to admire his handiwork.  “There you go.”

“Thanks, pal,” Thompson claps his hand down on Sousa’s shoulder, looking down into those soft, brown eyes for a endless moment, and then looks away, down at the floor. “I’d better be off to work now.”

Daniel clears his throat and gracelessly back away with a nod.  “Yeah. Of course.”  He grabs his keys from the counter and leads the way, giving Jack the chance to memorize the brunette’s form for later lengthy consideration.

Sousa drops him at the office, and Jack awkwardly thanks him, and then waves a quick goodbye and heads into work. Only, he can’t  _concentrate_ , those dark eyes keep swimming up in his mind at random moments.  The end of the day is a relief, and Jack is heartily glad to be back in his own apartment. He slides off Sousa’s shirt and trails a finger along the front, then sets it in the pile to be laundered, before pulling out his dinner.

And then there’s a knock on the door.

-

Daniel’s cleaned Thompson’s shirt and hung it to dry, and then carefully folded it and wrapped it for delivery.  He’d planned to leave it with the front desk, but they were on a lunch break, so he tiredly makes his way up the stairs, grateful that the mailboxes down stairs had put Jack on the second floor.  Any higher, and Daniel might have forgone the whole thing.

He knocks, more out of courtesy then expecting Jack to actually be home, but the door swings open, and there’s Thompson. He’s still in his work slacks, but atop, he’s got a sleeveless undershirt on under his suspenders, and it clings to him, revealing every contour of his well muscled body.  Daniel can’t breathe.

Jack glances down and see the shirt package.  “Oh! Thanks, pal.  You need to have a sit down real quick? Look a bit tired.”

Daniel just nods, taking a deep breath, and shuffles his way over to the one chair in the tiny studio. Jack brings him a glass of tap water and crouches down in front of him. “Seriously, you okay, Sousa?”

Daniel lifts his eyes up, and then wishes he hadn’t. Because now he’s face to face with all those muscles, plus the slacks pulled tight across Thompson’s lower half are leaving little to the imagination.  And apparently, he left his self-control down a flight of stairs, because he finds himself leaning in and kissing Jack before he even realizes it.

Jack freezes in shock as the other man’s lips crush against his, and then, all too soon, Sousa is pulling away, face red, stammering apologies, excuses, trying to get up to go…

That last catapults Jack back to his senses, and he rises, reaching out his arms, and lifts Sousa off his feet in a bridal carry.

“What – ” is all Daniel can get out before Jack kisses him again, hard and hungry, and he wraps his arms around the blonde’s neck, as Jack carries him off the the bedroom.


	21. Souson and Cartinelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some sort of old fashioned lords and ladies vampire and werewolf au idek

Daniel catches the scent of the vampire as soon as he walks into the room, the smell of fresh blood cutting through the perfumes of the gathered ladies and gentlemen easily. Before he can track it down, he’s distracted by a flurry of greetings from friends and acquaintances. 

 A knight just home from battle is apparently in high demand at the ball, and he barely has a moment to himself before he’s rescued by his childhood sweetheart, Lady Margaret, and her lady-in-waiting, Angela.

“Come, Sir Daniel, we must have you meet the only other person here in such high demand,” she says as she tucks her arm in his at the same time as she provides a support, knowing his lamed leg must be aching by now.

“Sir Daniel Sousa, allow me to introduce you to Baron Thompson.”

As soon as the Baron’s eyes meet his, Daniel sees the recognition.  And as the vampire inclines his head, that scent of blood hits Daniel anew.

“Jack,” the Baron says with a smile, and Daniel is forced to play along, to make nice and to socialize with this abomination. It doesn’t help that Jack is incredibly pompous, and Daniel’s jaw is starting to hurt from clenching his teeth.

He slips away at the first polite opportunity and finds a quiet corner of the garden to get some fresh air.

“Do you know why your kind hates mine, pup?” comes the voice from behind him, and Daniel’s inner wolf is howling to get out, but there are people nearby and he has to keep his cool.

“Because you’re evil abominations?” Daniel replies pleasantly.

Jack chuckles softly and steps forward, looking Daniel straight in the eye. “It’s because we can control you,” he says, leaning very close, and resting his palm against Daniel’s cheek. “You wolves,” he whispers into Daniel’s other ear, “are highly susceptible to glamour.”

“Be still,” the vampire murmurs, and Daniel finds that he cannot move, that the howling wolf is now curled up inside, happily content.

Daniel feels the cold finger of fear trace his spine, but before Jack can actually  _do_ anything, Lady Peggy and Angie burst through the foliage to the side of them, each carrying two glasses of wine.

“See, I told you,” Angie hisses as Jack breaks away from Daniel, who’s face reddens in anger as he is freed from the compulsion.

“Told her what?” Jack inquires casually as he takes the offered wine and sips.

“That you two were together, like we are together,” Peggy says with a quirk of her eyebrow as she hands Daniel his glass.

“What…” Daniel splutters, “No, we’re - ”

“Hush, Daniel,” Jack says, moving close and curling his hand around the back of the wolf’s neck, “It’s obvious they know our little secret.”

Daniel manages to bite back a growl and drinks his wine sullenly, wishing he dared attack Jack right now, while at the same time, somehow feeling that hand is oddly comforting.

“And we have a proposal for you gentlemen,” Peggy says, lifting her glass.

“Literally,” Angie giggles. 

Peggy pulls the other woman close. “We want you to marry us.”

“We’ll all live together in our manor,” Angie explains, “and no one will be the wiser.”

Daniel stiffens in shock, opens his mouth to refuse, but Jack squeezes his neck in warning, before he smiles at the girls. “Daniel and I are going to have to have a lengthy discussion on the matter before we can give you our answer,” he responds smoothly.

“Of course,” nods Peggy, and she and Angie drift away.

Jack turns to Daniel, who’s vibrating with rage, and runs his thumb along Daniel’s cheek. “You’re going to accept, pup,” he murmurs, looking into Daniels’ eyes. “You and  to be married.” And then he leans forward slowly, so that the werewolf is well aware what’s coming, and he  _kisses_ Daniel.  

Jack kisses Daniel softly and sweetly, and so gently, that it disarms the man’s anger, confuses him so much that he can only stare as Jack saunters away. 

Daniel sits down heavily on a nearby bench, and tries to figure out what the hell just happened.


	22. BlackPepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pepper/Natasha: _Curl into me when it hurts; maybe we were meant to feel pain, but we were never meant to feel it alone._
> 
> Tags: Established Relationship, Grief

Pepper looks out her window, through the rivulets of rain, across the concrete city framed  by the cloudy gray sky. She slowly sips from a cup of tea that does nothing to warm her soul. 

She’s numb right now, but the pain so intense that she can’t breathe is lurking just around the corner, waiting to swallow her up in its maw again.

There’s a knock at the door. Pepper doesn’t even blink, she ignores it just as thoroughly as she has ignored everything for the past day.

The door rattles strangely, and then all goes silent.  Pepper doesn’t even stir.  She watches a raindrop traverse the window from top to bottom, then lifts her eyes to watch another.  She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing here.

“Pepper.” The soft voice is familiar but she doesn’t look around.  It’s not until small, pale hands curl around her arm that she dully shifts her gaze, absently tracing over the porcelain complexion framed by curls of bright red hair.

“Tasha,” she whispers, then a long moment of silence where they stare at each other across a gap so huge, neither of them know how to cross it.  It’s Pepper that makes that move, had been Pepper the first time as well.

She gathers the diminutive spy into her arms and presses a kiss to the top of that head.  Natasha slides her arms around Pepper’s waist and they hold each other. She’s not one for false promises and trite sayings, she knows how little words can mean, so Natasha just shows her love by standing there and supporting Pepper for as long as she needs it.

Finally, she pulls back and Natasha tilts her chin to look up at Pepper. “You need to rest.” Pepper nods and lets Tasha pull her down onto the bed, pillows her head on the spy’s chest, and closes her eyes as those clever fingers run gently through her hair.

“Tash, I’m sorr-” 

“Hush,” Natasha interrupts her. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But- ”

“No, Pepper. It wasn’t your fault.”

Pepper trembles in Natasha’s arms, which gradually increase as sobs wrack her body.  She hasn’t cried yet, but makes up for it now.  All the while, Natasha just holds her.

Finally, long after Pepper’s sobs have devolved into sniffles, and then into the silence that means she is sleeping for the first time in days, Tasha speaks, whispering softly, “ _Ya lyublyu tebya vsey dushoy._ ”


End file.
